


Knocked Living

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Emotionally Repressed Arthur, Fluff, M/M, Morning After, Oneshot, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 20:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: They're both really only good at one thing, and it isn't this.(Morning after fluffiness with a spy flavor. Oneshot.)





	Knocked Living

Lagos sounds like madness in the morning.

Arthur yawns, stretches, scratches and doesn't roll over. He slides his fingers beneath his pillow, feeling for the shape of the gun there and sighing. He stares at the alarm clock beside him, its face reminding him that he's got three more hours in this room. He wonders if he could pretend to sleep that long.

Alfred ruins everything by getting up. One second he's murmuring his way into consciousness, and the next he's sitting upright, cracking his back with swift and painful-sounding movements.

Arthur still doesn't move or make a sound, until a warm hand slips its way down his naked back.

"G'morning sunshine~"

"Bugger off."

Alfred snorts and shuffles in closer, the heat of his body pressing against Arthur, his long, thin nose finding its way into Arthur's hair.

"Grumpy Gus..." he whispers, but his hands are sweetly moving all over, rubbing Arthur into the sort of wakefulness he can't handle this early in the morning.

"Alright, alright, lad. I'm up." Arthur drawls, pulling himself from the bed and heading toward the bathroom without a glance behind him.

Once the door is closed and the shower is on, he sits down hard on the closed toilet lid and just breathes.

It's a mere seven minutes and thirty-three seconds later when he emerges, a plume of steam erupting behind him and following him out into the empty room.

He goes for the gun first, his underpants second. The closet is empty, as well as the space beneath the bed. The door is no longer bolted and the chair has moved, but this isn't a surprise, considering the only window in the room is a single pane of two-inch thick glass that cannot be opened.

He's shuffling on his pants when the door opens again, and even though he recognizes Alfred moving through it nonchalantly, he almost wants to shoot.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" He doesn't want to sound worried, he wants to sound furious, but Alfred just smiles.

"Donuts!" Is his brilliant answer, and he flourishes a brown cardboard box emblazoned with the name of the hip little bakery they had scoped out the day before.

Arthur wants to strangle him. He wants to pistol whip him and stuff those saccharine monstrosities down his throat. But he knows when he's defeated, and he snatches a chocolate-covered pastry from the box before slapping the grinning blond in the face.

"Wha—Artie, no hitting! Fuck, you're grouchy." Alfred pouts, cradling his precious donuts against his chest and glaring.

"We're supposed to be on _lockdown_ , you ignorant twat. Do you know what lockdown means? You could have been killed!"

"Arthur, come on. This is preschool level. Those thugs lost our scent the minute we switched cars outside Ikeja. You know we're only sittin' tight to humor Mattie."

Arthur scoffs, sniffing at what he supposes will have to be his breakfast and mourning the lack of a kettle in their room.

"Why don't you run that idea by Antonio's bullet wound? It seems to have misinterpreted the situation."

"He was chasing tail! For fuck's sake, he was nearly suicidal!" Alfred explodes. Arthur's honestly surprised by this violent reaction, and he waits a moment, observing the flustered American as he huffs, falling onto the bed and stuffing another donut into his mouth.

Gingerly, Arthur sits down beside him, still avoiding his eyes.

"Didn't mean to start a fight." He says quietly, and he means it. He's tired, he's hot, and the thrum of the city is rubbing soreness into his bones like a fever. But he doesn't want to fight. He just wants something comfortable, and a fight is so natural, so easy.

Far easier than what he needs to do.

Alfred is silent for a while, and when he speaks, it is with the solemn, careful tone that Arthur despises.

"Last night, you kept saying the same thing again and again. 'Take this seriously, Alfred. This has to be serious.'"

Alfred sits up, grabbing for Arthur's face and forcing their eyes to meet.

"I did. Did you?"

Exposed. It's one of the worst feelings in the world for someone who lives a life of espionage, but Arthur can't avoid it. Alfred has him trapped, his blue eyes tugging at his mind, pulling at the memories he's trying so hard to avoid. The memories of an exposure far greater than this. One that he asked for, the one that he'd wanted for so long.

He doesn't have the heart to lie to himself anymore, much less to Alfred.

"Yes."

Alfred wants him to elaborate, but this proximity, this blasted _interrogation_ is making his stomach flutter.

"God, Alfred, haven't I suffered enough?"

Alfred looks hurt, but Arthur rolls his eyes.

"You've drained me of my affection, darling. I don't... I can't do this the way you want. You have to..." He trails off, jerks his chin away from Alfred's grip and abruptly stands, digging through his suitcase for a shirt.

"What do you need, Artie?"

Arthur snorts.

"First off, the Artie business has to end. Second, you... you need to teach me, Alfred."

Alfred doesn't answer him. He just watches as Arthur disappears into his shirt, a gray button-up that's going to give him a heat stroke.

He stands, dawdles, hands in his jean pockets as he casually comes to stand in front of the flustered Brit.

Suddenly, he strikes a pose, one finger pointing toward heaven, his other hand on his chest.

"Agent Kirkland, the Crank! This is a life-or-death mission straight from the top!" He grabs Arthur by the hips before he can escape, ignoring his curses and sputters as he spins them down and onto the bed, Alfred straddling him.

And as far as lines go, 'Prepare for briefing' has got to be the corniest Arthur has ever heard, but it doesn't prevent his lips from finding Alfred's own.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of a multichapter fic that didn't make it very far. I thought it was cute enough to be a standalone piece. I love spy boys. I might do more spy boys one day.


End file.
